


I Couldn't Just Leave You Behind

by Eden Marie Dawson (GodDamnedPlums)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Witness Protection, F/M, Fluffy Gabriel/Dean, Gabriel's Back, Grieving Dean, M/M, Smut, Things aren't as they seem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7474365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodDamnedPlums/pseuds/Eden%20Marie%20Dawson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's worried about Dean. It's not that it's such an unusual thing, mind you, it's just... Dean has been throwing himself into everything lately. Hunts, research, food, alcohol, even the company of strange women he's barely gotten to know for three minutes before he's letting them shove their tongues down his throat. Sam's noticed, and so has Cas, that Dean doesn't seem very into his 'conquests' anymore. He hasn't in months, not since they'd faced off with Lucifer, and Gabriel had sacrificed himself to allow the Winchesters to save Kali. Then the bitch didn't even thank them, but that's not the point. The point is, Sam, and Cas, are worried that Dean's going to crash and burn before too long, and they have no idea on what could even save him.</p><p>Perhaps the pretty blonde bartender with the familiar golden eyes and slightly crooked smile could be of some assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well, that didn't go as planned...

[ ](http://s349.photobucket.com/user/Sammy_Morenna/media/PicMonkey%20Collage_zps8feyysmc.jpg.html)

Dean didn't think he'd ever get used to having to look up to his baby brother. He wasn't short, by any means, but Sam was just.... fuck. He sprouted up like a God damned tree somewhere around the age of sixteen and just kept going. He hated times like this, where he had to tip his head back just slightly so that he could meet the younger man's gaze, mainly because in doing so, he only wound up squinting into the sunlight that was blaring down on Sam's back. He was pretty sure that the look on his face toed the line between confused and constipated.

"Dean, were you listening to me at all? Or were you off in your head, thinking about the bar chick you banged two nights ago?"

Dean couldn't hide the grin that formed, which only widened when the sun shifted enough to allow him a clearer view of one of his brother's famous 'bitch faces'. He chuckled.

"You jealous, Sammy? S'not my fault that they just seem to flock to me like I'm a God or something."

"Or something," Sam retorted with a roll of his eyes. He ignored Dean's indignant 'hey!' and went on with his story. "As I was saying, Bobby thinks that there's a Trickster mucking things up down in Nashville and thinks we should check it out."

"Nashville? Oh, God, don't tell me this is all a ruse so that you can go see Dolly."

Another of Sam's patented 'bitch faces'. Dean snorted. "Alright, alright. We'll head down there and scope out the joint. But first thing in the morning, because I'm starving."

Sam rolled his eyes again, but this time, he was smiling, just a little. "Sure, Dean, whatever you say."

"Damn right, whatever I say. Now get in the car, I feel like my stomach's about to crawl out of my body for it's own search for food. I'm thinking tacos."

Sam knew that complaining about the food choice wouldn't do any good, so he slid into the passenger seat of Baby and settled back, resting his head against the seat. "Tacos sound fine, man."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"This place is fucking freaky, dude..." Dean was acting as if the bar they'd walked into, searching for a cold one to finish off their long day of not finding a God damned thing to help their case, was going to rub off on him and give him some kind of weird disease. Sam chuckled at his brother's skittish demeanor. "It's just a bar, Dean."

"It's....it's a gay bar. I thought they still had that...you know, don't ask don't tell thing in the South?" Dean was whispering rapidly in his brother's ear as they made their way to the bar.

"First off, Dean, you're an ass. Second off, try coming into the current century, would you? And third off, just because it's a gay bar doesn't mean you have to go home with anyone here. We're here on business, not pleasure."

Dean definitely did not just squeak. "I'm not into men, dude! Why would I be here for pleasure?"

Sam raised a single brow at him and Dean felt his face flush red. Okay so maybe once....okay, twice, did he bring a guy back to the motel room. But both times, he was certain that Sam was so deeply asleep, and that they were so quiet, that he'd never pick up on the fact. And just because he experimented a few times, nevermind that he actually enjoyed himself, didn't mean he was gay, right? 

....Right?

"Whatever, Dean. I'm going to get something to drink, because I'm bone-dead tired and I'm not driving around with you to search for a bar that's up to your standards. They're so low anyway that this should be perfectly acceptable."

Another definitely-not-dignified noise from Dean. "Damn, Sammy, who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?"

"Just shut up and get a beer, jerk."

"Bitch," Dean countered automatically, making Sam grin. He'd already taken a place at the bar, seated somewhere in the middle, so Dean took an empty stool to the left of him. It was closest to the door, just in case he needed to make a break for it. You know, to protect his masculinity and....stuff.

"What can I get you boys?" A short, blonde woman with wicked curves and plump, red-painted lips grinned at the Winchesters from behind the counter. She wore a low-cut AC/DC t-shirt that looked as if the sleeves had been ripped off. Dean couldn't see what she wore from the waist down, at least not without leaning over the counter, and he wasn't about to look that obvious. Not sober, anyway. It seemed that Sam had already given his order of a simple beer, for Dean soon found wide eyes, almost golden in color and rimmed with black, liquid eyeliner, staring intently at him. He repressed a shiver.

"Make that two beers, sweetheart," he drawled, his lips quirking into a smirk. The blonde raised a single eyebrow, one hand resting on her hip and the other on the bar's countertop. Her plump, beautiful lips pursed slightly, as if she were going to say something to him about his obvious flirtation, but it seemed she thought better of it and turned to Sam, instead. 

"Two beers it is. Want me to open a tab?" When he nodded, she winked at him. "Comin' right up, Sugar."

"Dude. Way to cockblock me." Dean grumbled and Sam looked at him with wide eyes. 

"What? I didn't do anything! I was just sitting here!"

"Mhm, taking up the attention of the one straight woman in this place."

"Got news for you, sweetheart," the bartender had appeared with their beers, and was cracking them open beneath the bar. She slid Sam's to him first, then slid Dean his. Her fingers brushed against Dean's own as she handed him the bottle, and he was so not going to admit to the tingles that shot up his arm. "I am far from straight."

Sam couldn't choke down the laugh that bubbled to the surface and the bartender gave him a grin. Dean's ears were starting to tint red, but he wasn't going to be shot down so easily. He leaned his forearms on the counter, pressing his upper body forward and dropping his eyelids to imitate what his past girlfriend's had called his 'bedroom eyes'. He let his voice draw out thick and heavy with seduction, just the hint of a Southern accent slipping around his tongue. 

"Well, maybe you just need the right guy to show you how it's supposed to be done."

The bartender stared at him for a long moment. A very long, very quiet moment, where no one around them seemed to breathe. Then, without warning, she threw her head back and started laughing, hysterically. "Oh, wow, do lines like that ever work on anyone? I've heard some pretty fucked up ones in my day, but damn, Kiddo, that one takes the cake."

Kiddo? Dean frowned slightly. He'd heard that nickname from somewhere before, but for the life of him, he couldn't place it. He didn't have much time to think, anyway, as the bartender was leaning her own upper body against the counter. Dean glanced downward, quickly, and...yep. She wasn't wearing a bra. Awesome.

"Just so you know, I do happen to be into both women and men. But, sweetie, I don't think you've come prepared to handle this rodeo. Might want to grab your saddle and mosey on back to the pony parade where you belong." She pushed off the counter with a wink and turned to walk toward the other end of the bar, her hips swaying seductively as she walked. Jean shorts, so tight they looked like they had been painted on, framed her perky ass and showed off creamy thighs that brushed together just the right amount when she walked. Dean had to surpress a groan as he watched her walk away.

"Dude... I don't think I've ever seen you fail so hard at picking up a date. Not since you tried to pick up that nun..."

"I was drunk off my ass! And I warned you not to bring that up again!" Dean's face was red, but it grew even redder when he heard the bartender laughing. They were the only customers at the bar, so he knew she had to have heard Sam. Damn it all to Hell.

Dean threw a couple bills down on the bar to cover their tab, grabbed his coat, and slung it over one shoulder. "Come on, Sam," he grumbled, heading toward the door. He chanced one last look at the bartender over his shoulder and was met with those beautiful golden eyes and that shit-eating grin smiling back at him. She lifted her hand, giving her fingers a little wave.

"Toodles, Sweetheart!"

Dean knew he'd be back tomorrow evening, whether they were done with the case or not.


	2. Open mouth, insert both feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing good ever comes out of Dean being grumpy.

Dean was starting to wonder if Bobby had sent them on a wild goose chase, just to give the Hunters something to work on and get them out of his hair for a while. Sam and Cas had suggested that they take a small break from things, unless something incredibly pressing came up that required their immediate attention, and pay Bobby a much needed and long overdue visit. The old Hunter had been estatic to see his boys, and the angel as well, but after the third straight week of Dean moping around, Bobby was about at the end of his already short rope. Not that Dean had actually noticed any of this, mind you, because....well, he had been moping.

They had come up empty handed, once again, and Dean was getting frustrated. They had been there for four days, and each time they went to interview another witness, they got a different version of the same story, each one with a few details changed or molded in some way to make it seem more exciting to the one telling it. Sam had found all of this amusing, having already caught on that this was a bogus case, but Dean....well, he wasn't cluing that in just yet. He tried his best to ignore the smug and satisfied look that was plastered on his younger brother's face as he slid into the driver's seat of his beloved Impala and slammed the door. The sound of metal clashing together made him flinch, and he muttered a low apology to the car, running his hands over the wheel as if to soothe her. Sam rolled his eyes, earning one of Dean's 'death glares'.

"I fail to see how any of this is freaking funny, Sam." Dean groused as he waited for Sam to fold his long legs into the passenger's side of the car, before he pulled out of the nursing home parking lot. He was still wearing his standard "FBI suit", but he had lost the tie the moment he and Sam had stormed out of the retierment center, the fabric now laying somewhere, lost in the back seat.

"It's hilarious, Dean. That old woman wanted to take you back to her room and have her wicked way with you!" He was practically beaming with barely controlled glee.

Dean shuddered as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "That's.....shut up, Sam."

"Well, you were complaining earlier that you were tired of spending nights with just your own hand...." Sam trailed off, a teasing grin on his face. "And since you won't let Cas do anything to help you...."

"Shut it, bitch!" Dean snapped, loud enough to make Sam flinch slightly. He immediately sighed and rubbed t his eyes with one hand, briefly, so he didn't lose sight of the road in the dimming daylight. "Sorry, Sam. And you know how I feel about Cas. He's my brother, man, like you. It would be like getting into bed with you, and I know we've basically grown up in each other's pockets, but there are some lines that even I won't cross."

Sam nodded, silently thankful for that. He repressed a shudder, agreeing with Dean, but not wanting to insult him or anything. He knew how weird his big brother could be on these type of things. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean, it would be pretty weird if you got together with Cas..."

The way that his voice grew quiet and trailed off at the end of the sentence had Dean glancing a little too long at his brother, nearly sliding right past a stop sign and into the path of an oncoming car. He slammed the brakes, making both men jerk forward in the front seat. Sam cursed and Dean muttered an apology. There was no one behind him, so he let the car idle at the four-way.

"What's with the voice, Sam? You got some problem with Cas?"

Sam's face heated, and even though he tried to hide it by turning his gaze toward the window, Dean still caught it. A knowing smirk formed on his face as he started back onto the road and back toward the motel where they were staying. "Ah, I get it. What I don't get, though, is why haven't you done anything about it? Afraid of rejection?"

If it were possible, Sam's face grew even darker in color. Dean may not have been a scholar, and sometimes it took him a while to piece a puzzle together, but if there was one thing he was fluent in, that was deciphering his little brother's facial expressions and body language. His own emerald eyes widened slightly. "No freaking way.... you and Cas? Really? When?!" His voice raised an octave at the end, against his will.

"Not...not often. A few times while we've been staying with Bobby. It started not too long after I got my soul back." Sam looked almost guilty as he stared at his hands. 

"And why the fuck didn't you tell me?" Dean was back to gripping the steering wheel far too tightly. They weren't too far from the motel now.

"Because we didn't know how you'd take it. I mean, you're not the most adamant person when it comes to Supernatural creatures...."

"Can you fucking blame me, after what that demon bitch put you through?!"

Sam's muscles tensed as he turned his hardened gaze toward Dean. "Do not compare Cas to Ruby, Dean. This is nothing like that."

"Did he force you?" Dean heard himself asking before he could think better of it. Sam was practically gaping at him, but he didn't look at him. He didn't trust himself not to say anything else stupid if he caught the look Sam was giving him head on.

"Dean, stop the car." Sam's voice was tight, forced, almost.

"What?" He blinked in confusion and spared a glance at him. Sam's mouth was drawn into a tight line, and he had a look that Dean didn't even dare to joke about and label it as another one of his bitch faces. "Sam, you can't be serious."

"Pull the fucking car over, Dean." Yeah, he was serious. Dean could count on one hand the number of times he had heard his little brother use the F-word in any situation other than one that had them running from something ugly and twice as big as they were. He frowned, but pulled the car to the edge of the road. Sam didn't even wait for him to roll to a complete stop before he was throwing the door open and storming out of the car.

"Sammy!" Dean leaned over in the seat, shouting out the window. He was about to get out and go after him, when he saw the angel that they had just been discussing flutter into view beside his little brother. Bright blue eyes soon focused on him, sending a deep jolt of fear right through to his core, before both the angel and his brother vanished from the side of the road.

Dean let his head drop to the steering wheel, a long string of obscenities leaving his lips. He needed a drink....or twelve...and the closest bar in town just so happened to be the one that he had been embarassed in their first night here. Oh, what the hell. He figured that he wouldn't be welcome back at the hotel any time soon, so he might as well get shit-faced drunk and see if he could find someone to take pity on him for the night. He could work the sad and pitiful angle pretty damn well when he wanted to. After all, that's all that it was to him at the end of the day; just another angle to be worked to get what you wanted out of life, and leave the rest behind.


	3. Can't Help That I'm Attracted To Danger

"Well hey there, Cowboy." Those too-familiar golden eyes were on him the moment that Dean sulked through the door, and remained on him as he shouldered his way through the crowded tables until he could reach the bar. She already had an ice cold beer sitting on a napkin placed in front of the bar stool that she was pretty certain that he'd choose, and she allowed herself a tiny smile when she was right. 

Dean muttered a low thanks as he slid onto the bar stool and grabbed the bottle. The glass felt cool beneath his too-hot hand, little beads of condensation slicking his palm and running down his wrist as he tipped the longneck back against his lips to take a long pull.

"What's got your face all puckered up? You look like you inhaled the ass end of a skunk."

He choked. The bartender had the audacity to laugh at him as he slammed the bottle back onto the bar, trying to catch his breath amongst all the sputtering. Yeah, that was an attractive look to have when you were looking to get picked up.

"Excuse me?" he finally rasped out, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, instead of doing the civilized thing and using the slightly damp napkin that the beer had been resting on earlier.

"I asked you why you've come trapsing in here, head hung down and tail tucked between your legs like you've either gotten busted doing something you shouldn't have been, or you found out someone you've got a hard on for already has a prior commitment. Am I getting close?" She rested her forearms on the bar, and damn if Dean didn't find the urge to look down the front of her top again.

An urge he didn't even try to resist. Huh. This time she wore a lacy black bra, and just the tiniest hint of wht looked to be a rose tattoo could be seen peeking out from beneath the fabric. She cleared her throat and his eyes snapped back up to her face. "I can play the concerned bar keep and wipe down the counter while you spill your guts, or I could tell you that I'm off in twenty and we can head out to somewhere that doesn't smell like cheap booze and even cheaper people." She winked at one of her customers, who just grinned drunkenly back at her.

Was she.... did the bartender just hit on him? Seriously? After the fiasco that had happened the first time they'd met? Dean's head was starting to spin and he shook his head to try and clear it, before downing the rest of his quickly warming beer. "I...uh... I'll get back to you on that. In the meantime, open me a tab and give me another?" He waved the empty beer bottle in the air.

"Sure thing, Cowboy." She winked at him and gave him another beer, forgoing the napkin this time, because why bother? He wasn't going to use it anyway.

Dean grabbed the longneck and slid off the barstool, pressing it to his lips as he wandered around the crowded bar. He hadn't noticed the first time that they were there, but the interior didn't much look like any kind of typical bar he was used to. There was a stage tucked off into the very back corner, with two rows of mismatched chairs circling around it. A microphone and what looked to be a karaoke machine was set up on the stage. There was a large dance floor, though there was no DJ, merely a few speakers hooked up into the ceiling. He wondered how it was possible for the people doing karaoke to hear themselves over the loud speakers, but he was shocked to find that once he stepped over the divided line between the two, the former was almost non-existant. Dean stepped back and forth arcross the line a few times, actually perplexed about the whole set up. This was definitely no normal bar.

His antics had earned him the attention of a tall, burly man with a slight beer belly and a five o'clock shadow. His hair was cropped low, probably hiding a receeding hairline. Definitely not Dean's typical type, but tonight, he had decided before he'd even entered the bar that he wasn't going to be picky. He shot him a slightly lopsided grin, which made the stranger's own grin widen all the further. It didn't strike Dean as particularly....warm.

Though, he told himself as he sauntered over to where the man was sitting, legs splayed in a rather vulgar fashion and slid into the seat beside him, he wasn't looking for anything long term. He just wanted someone to fuck him, good and hard, so that he could forget everything about this stupid ass night. Dean tipped his head back and took another pull from his beer. He didn't fail to notice the obscene groan that came from the middle-aged man to his left.

"Such a pretty mouth on you. Bet you'd look twice as good with those plump lips of yours wrapped around this cock." He made a rude gesture with his hand and crotch, which made Dean wrinkle his nose in distaste without thinking twice about it. Okay, even he had standards.

"Sorry, I think I'm just going to head back to the bar." He stood to leave, when he felt a meaty hand grasp too tightly at his wrist. Dean's brow furrowed, and when he looked back, the man's face had lost all sense of a smile. It had actually contorted into something ugly, far uglier than Dean had ever thought a human could look.

"I don't think I was giving you a choice, pretty boy." He jerked hard on Dean's arm, causing the Hunter to stumble slightly. However, he wasn't weak, in any means of the term, and with a swift turn he slammed the half-empty bottle against the side of the man's head, jerking his wrist free in the process and then slamming his knee up into his gut. It gave him a few minutes, but sure enough, the asshole was coming back at him. He reared his hand back and delievered a strong punch to the left side of his jaw, ignoring the stinging pain that immediately followed the action. He wasn't going to be taken advantage of just because some dickhead thought he was 'pretty'. He'd taken down things far uglier than this thing, after all.

"Enough!" The sharp bark rumbled through the entire bar, even over the stereos blasting and the karaoke machine. The bar was plunged into silence, almost everyone's eyes swiveling to look at the bartender, who looked downright furious. "I will not stand to have this kind of bullshit in my establishment! Rogers! Out!" She snapped her arm out, finger pointing toward the front door. As if that action alone was enough to get him moving, or if he was being pulled, rather, the man known as Rogers stumbled his way through the tables and out into the parking lot.

Dean turned his gaze back to the bartender, who was glaring heatedly, and directly at him. She jerked her head toward the back entrance, clearly wanting Dean to meet her back there. It was clear that this was a woman not to be trifled with, and he had the necessary tools that he'd need to protect himself, in case she turned out to be as he suspected; supernatural. He swallowed his pride, which was irked at being told what to do by a woman, and headed down the narrow hallway that lead to two doors; the employees only lounge and the emergency exit. He chose to go into the lounge.

The room was small, only big enough to hold a reasonably sized wooden desk, which was cluttered with papers, log books, inventory sheets and old coffee cups. There were two worn-looking chairs sitting across from it, and they just looked too comfortable to resist, so Dean crossed the stained shag carpet, which really, who had shag carpeting anymore, and sank into the one nearest the wall. He let out a little moan of 'Oh yeah' as he collapsed into the most comfortable chair he'd ever sat in. He felt like he'd died and gone to heaven. ...Again.

That was, at least, until the door to the lounge slammed open so hard that it rattled the walls. Dean jumped at the sudden noise, practically flailing as he dropped from the chair to the hard floor below.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Winchester?!" The bartender was fuming, all five-feet four inches of her, and if Dean hadn't been utterly shocked that she'd known his name, or at least his last name, he would have thought it was adorable. "You have any idea what kind of place this is? You can't just go whoring yourself around like that! I didn't risk everything coming back to watch over your ass just so you could give it away to some fuck-up in some random bar!"

The look on Dean's face must have been priceless, and a small part of him would have liked to have had a picture, or a mirror, just so he could see it for himself. The rest of him wouldn't have missed the sudden realization dawning on the bartender, her face slipping from one of complete fury to one of shock that probably rivaled Dean's own, for all the apple pie in the world. He sat up, slowly and very wearily, distancing himself from the person standing stock-still in the doorway.

"I've got a few questions here... One, who are you, two, what the fuck are you, and three, how the fucking hell do you know me?" Dean's voice, thankfully, came out a lot more calm and assertive than he felt at that moment.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath. "Guess the cat's out of the bag now." She muttered and raised her hand, snapping her fingers. The disguise melted away, her form growing a few more inches, and the soft curves defining into a well built, very male and very, very familiar body. Dean could feel his eyes widening, breath catching in his throat as all words died on his lips. He couldn't believe this. This could not be real, could not be happening to him right now. The knife that he had drug from the back of his belt suddenly fell with a clatter to the desk by his side. This... this was.....

"Hey, Kiddo.... miss me?"

"Gabriel...."


	4. Confessions were made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this is so late! With school semesters blending into one another & the impending move looming over head, my muses had gotten lost amongst the boxes and packing material. But! I really hope that you all enjoy this chapter. Atolotl, this one's for you! Sorry again it took so long! xoxoxo

“Gabriel…”

Dean’s throat felt dry and raw, as if he’d somehow managed to swallow a couple pounds of sand and chased it down with a cactus. His fingers flexed against the phantom feeling of the knife that had long since clattered to the desk in his shock. This had to be some trick, some shapeshifting fucker that was striking at Dean’s weakest spot just to get the upper hand.

Wait…when did Sam stop being his weak spot?

“How…but you’re dead. We went back to the hotel after Lucifer left…”

“You did WHAT?” Gabriel barked, eyes wide. “Dean, I know you have more of a brain than you give yourself credit for, so why the hell weren’t you using it? You never should have gone back there!”

“I couldn’t just leave you behind, okay?!” Maybe it was the fight he’d had with Sam a few hours earlier, or maybe it was the fact that he was standing there with the one person that had been haunting his dreams since the night they’d faced down Lucifer in that god-awful hotel, but he didn’t seem to have a filter on his emotions at the moment. Judging by the look of pained shock on Gabriel’s face, he wasn’t the only one.

“You should have,” Gabriel muttered, though his voice was barely above a whisper. “I gave up everything to protect you two. Didn’t you ever stop to think, after so many years spent in hiding, why it was so easy for you and your brother to trap me? Sam may be a borderline genius but even he’s not that damn good, Dean-o.”

“So…then why…”

“Why? Because I was Sam’s guardian. Just as Castiel is yours, I was ordered to watch over Sam. Sure, it’s practically unorthodox for an archangel to be assigned a charge, but Sam was a special circumstance. He was Lucifer’s heir.” He could see the look of unbridled disbelief on Dean’s face, but he continued. “I let myself be caught as the Trickster. I wanted to show Sam that this endless cycle of self-sacrifice was only going to end in agony, for everyone. I didn’t…I never expected to fall for my baby brother’s charge in the process.”

“Fall?” Dean blinked, rapidly, as he tried to comprehend just what the hell was going on here. “Are you saying you’re…in love…with me?” He’d always assumed that Gabriel had a thing for Sam; after all, they’d flirted off and on since they’d known each other.

Gabriel tried to play off his vulnerability with a trademark smirk and waggle of his eyebrows, but Dean could see right through it. He shoved one of the chairs out of the way, ignoring the sound that it made as it crashed against the far wall. He did the same with the two other chairs that lay between him and the archangel-turned-Trickster, noting that with each step he took, Gabriel’s shoulders seemed to tense just a fraction more.

“Watch it, Winchester…” Gabriel warned, but there was a quiver in his tone that he was desperately hoping that the other didn’t pick up on. Dean continued to close in on the archangel-turned-trickster, turning the tables on him as Gabriel soon became the hunted. He succeeded in backing him up against the thin office wall, one palm slamming against the cold plaster above his head.

“You’re not going to do anything to me, Gabriel.” Dean’s breath was warm, tickling his ear as the hunter leaned in close to him. If Gabriel had needed to breath, he was pretty sure the ability would have been sucked right out of him in that moment. “If you were, you wouldn’t have let me get this close to you. You wouldn’t have let me _trap_ you.” He could see the way that Gabriel’s shoulders tensed at the word, forcing him to repress a chuckle. Once the initial shock had worn off, first from Gabriel’s apparent revival and then from his unintentional confession, Dean had managed to slide easily back into the flirtatious predatory state that he was near famous for.

He drug the tip of his index finger underneath the archangel’s chin, forcing his head to scrape against the wall as he tipped it back. Emerald hues danced with mischievous delight, a look that under any other circumstances, actually would have made Gabriel proud to witness. As it were, he was trying very hard to fight his typical “fight or flight” instinct. He wasn’t used to being cornered, and what was pissing him off even more was that he’d unintentionally allowed himself to be trapped. And by a Winchester, no doubt!

“What’s wrong, Gabe? Cat got your tongue?” Dean brushed his thumb over his lower lip, and damn if he didn’t want to lean in and capture those plush lips with his own. For all the fuss that he made earlier, he wasn’t homophobic. Just the opposite, actually, it just wasn’t something that he was ready to broadcast to the entire world. He wasn’t as open with his feelings as Sammy was.

“My mother taught me that if you didn’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. And Dean-o, everything on my mind right now falls more on the naughty side of the scale.”

“But you don’t have a mother…”

“Missing the point there, Winchester…” Gabriel twitched, the result of trying to hold back a bark of laughter and a roll of his eyes.

Dean flushed. “Anyway. I thought you had a thing for Sam?”

He did roll his eyes that time. “Why, just because we’ve flirted? We’re not as homoconstipated as you are, Dean. It’s fun, but meaningless. Besides, I could use the same argument for you and with how many times you and my baby bro have eyefucked each other across the room.”

The flush only grew deeper, before Dean actually started sputtering. “We have not! We’re just…we’re just friends.” When Gabriel didn’t seem convinced, Dean grew even more frustrated. “I swear it, we’re just friends!”

“Then why are you getting so defensive?” He hadn’t moved off the wall, despite Dean having stepped away enough to let him do so. It seemed that the tables had turned back in his favor once more.

“I’m not!” he snapped, making Gabriel quirk a single eyebrow. He groaned and tilted his head back, fingers of his right hand moving through his hair. “I’m not into Cas, damn it, I’m in to you!”

Now it was Gabriel’s turn to go slack-jawed. Never in a million years had he ever expected Dean Winchester to let go of his macho bravado enough to even admit he had feelings towards another man, and given his general (near hereditary) distaste for the Supernatural community, the expectation that he’d ever have feelings for him was even lower. Gabriel watched as Dean shuffled from foot to foot, mumbling something underneath his breath, as if trying to either justify what he said, or work around it so that a big deal wasn’t made from the sudden confession.

Like hell he was going to let that one slide.

Before the hunter had time to react, Gabriel had him on his back, spread out on the desk as a shower of papers rained down around them, thrown haphazardly into the air when Gabriel swept the desk clean just moments prior. Emerald green eyes were wide as they focused on the hungry, whiskey-colored gaze of the man now looming above him, one knee pressed to the desk between his thighs as he prepared to climb up.

“You’d best not be lying to me, Winchester. If you think Lucifer and Michael’s temper tantrums were bad, you haven’t seen the wrath of a Trickster scorned.

Dean swallowed hard and leaned up on his elbows. He really was a hypocrite, wasn’t he? After all the shit he had given Sam in the car about screwing around with Cas, comparing him to Ruby and the dark path she had lead Sam down…and now, here he was, nearly spread open, willing and ready for one of the most powerful beings to ever walk the earth. One that had killed him over a hundred times, no doubt, and put Sam through one of the worst heartbreaks that he’d experienced.

He knew he should tell Gabriel to get off him, to get stuffed and to leave him and his brother alone, for good, but no words managed to get past the tight lump that had lodged in the back of his throat. In truth, Dean hadn’t been alright since that night in Elysian Fields. He didn’t know what had been missing, how deep of a hole Gabriel’s death had carved inside his chest until the archangel was once again standing before him in all his beautiful glory.

He knew he should get up and go back to Sam, apologize over a beer to both his brother and best friend, but he couldn’t make his body move. Any time he tried to move in any direction rather than toward Gabriel, it seemed as if his body was made of lead. A small flicker of fear flashed through him, leaving him with thoughts of Gabriel forcing him to stay until he submitted to him, but those thoughts were quickly squashed when the hunter caught a quick glimmer of hurt in the amber orbs.

He knew he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be leaning up on one hand, the other hand reaching out to cup the back of the archangel’s head and tug him down toward his lips. He knew he shouldn’t be laying back against the desk, pulling Gabriel with him and inviting him down overtop him. He knew he shouldn’t be enjoying the feeling of his firm body pressed against his, a stark contrast from the typical soft flesh and curves he was used to feeling under his hands.

He knew he should love Gabriel as much as he did, but at the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.


End file.
